In my previous house, which was little more than a hovel Loffi and damp, I had a mirror, not one or even the bathroom. This does not make me particularly upset, because I wanted mirrors everywhere around the city: the windows of shops, especially those of the central course always bright and sharp, even the toilets of the university and the polymethylmethacrylate (plexiglass did you know that is a word that there is a word business? advertisement in the dictionary of words is in fact followed by r circled: the trademark symbol) of the bus stop me be very useful for this purpose.
One evening, returning home from a dinner Pharaonic pulled up with 4 shillings and sweaters soaked with sweat and flour, I found a mirror of a car to the ground before the house door. Strange, I thought, given that usually stationed in front of that door just incredible dog faeces, with the sub-brand of the tramp Tavernello in hand and / or (because the options are not mutually exclusive, indeed) Punkabbestia any intention to launch and lose his personal challenge to the force of gravity.
I took him in hand, the plastic was perfectly intact, unlike the glass that was hopelessly split along lines oblique parts different from each other. There was something strange and fascinating.
I do not know what strange association of ideas, but I decided then that since that evening I I also had a mirror, or rather a tinsel-style garage-punk substitute a mirror.
was not easy to hang, I had not in fact neither nails nor hammers in that house very unwelcoming. Luckily I had and I have a friend who enjoyed as a child to take apart and reassemble computers and laptops and all that was small and rectangular and full of engaging Lucette. It was a clocker , those who pimped the computer increasing the voltage and amperage and other premium and filled with neon-colored fans hooked to giant-style fast and furious. He called himself an "overclocker", to emphasize that it was not a clocker any, and I called him "the Albanian computers, "the good old panzer, and this has never digested, even though every time he pretended to sbellicarsi laughter. Diatribe dialectic aside, I have this friend and also the time I lived close enough. Thanks to him rimediai nails and small screws, definitely not suitable for drilling sing, but it was what filled the convent, college or, better said: the college student. Of how I got hold of a hammer will not here to tell you, I do not think the case.
Eventually I managed to stick solidly in one of these nails to the wall, just above the sink, as in real houses. I tied one end of a stretch to pin the mirror until a few days ago linked him the car, I stared at each other with a nail knot, holding in delicate balance on the edge of the bathtub.
I liked looking at me like crazy there. That piece of broken glass could become fragmented and unstructured better than my imagination had ever spauto do. Every single chip with a light and I reflected with a different angle. I saw the nose so much bigger than the mouth, right eye two or three Vole brighter than the left and the neck was attached to the head quarantcinque degrees. The facial features were reassembled according to a new scheme. In short, there were many pieces of my face and so many ways to put them together.
And I liked them all. When I left that
home I was happy, not at the bottom of the boiler and had not had the oven, two essential elements for the life of any student sentenced to pull fields for each day of his youth. Only one thing they missed a few weeks. I do not notice it, because basically it was a detail of an object small in size and importance, had the case all over.
I began to miss the old broken mirror, black plastic and cracks in the reflecting surface. I began to have nostalgia because he knew me to see different every morning and every afternoon, and because it allows me to focus on some points than others. A focus and more targeted states.
Now, my beautiful mirror surrounded by bulbs to large size white and round, I see only un'annoiata haggard face that would not give even a penny of trust. The same face that started getting sick on average, so much so flat and predictable and banal.
It seems to me that everything is in pieces, now that I see always only one.
0 comments:
Post a Comment